Meet The Russians
by Alex DeLyan
Summary: Layla is a young but well-trained spy recently deployed to America to assist the Jenning's on their missions and act as an informant for them. As she adapts to the ways of the capitalist state, she learns new things, good, bad and downright tempting...


Meet The Russians

Hacker

1981

Bang, bang, bang. The guns were going off, exploding all around the warehouse. It'd been four months since they deployed me. My secret assignment in America. Working for a couple of other agents. They'd been working deep cover since the 60's. I hadn't met them directly. Not yet. Right now I had to retrieve the object. I leaned against a wooden box. Jumping up, I fired. Shattering the CIA officer's jawbone, sending him to the floor. It was actually quite fun watching him writhe in the throes of death. But there were more to deal with. Four, to be exact.

They were guarding this object. You know, the one I had to retrieve. We both wanted the same thing for the same purpose. Find it, take it, drill it for intel, then dispose of it. So, pumping five bullets into the chest of the next officer, I prepared for a challenge. One more difficult than my present one. Not even half the battle was won. I reloaded and timed my firing right. Bang. Bang! Two more bullets scattered all over the room. The third wore a worried look on his face as he threw his empty gun to the ground and deserted. I couldn't let that happen. But then, his colleague saved me the bullet. A hole appeared in his back where the final officer had shot his friend for his betrayal.

The last target stood up. An act of suicide. I shot him in the forehead, granting him his wish. Now safe to proceed, I made for the stairs and shoved open the door of the room. There he was, bound and gagged. Terrified. A soiled patch by his crotch. I looked away in disgust. Cutting his bounds from the chair, I pointed my pistol at him, but I was fairly certain he wouldn't try anything stupid. Tying his hands and feet again with tight rope, I heaved him over my shoulder, taking care to avoid his urine soaked pants.

I was less well-built than him, so it was difficult to support his weight. Approaching my car that was parked in the warehouse, I threw him in the trunk, relieving my shoulder of his burden. I checked the car over for any unwanted passengers before getting into the drivers seat. Positive I was alone (apart from the cargo I had to deliver), I set off. Making my way into the suburbs, it was a high risk. He could let out a muffled, yet still alarming yelp for help.

Inhaling as we passed a police vehicle, and praying I wouldn't get pulled over. I exhaled as we passed with flying colours. I was a beginner. I didn't understand why they'd send me straight to the...ahem...capital. Forgive me, I'm Layla Maraiandraska. Born and raised in Barnaul. Graduate of The Dzerzhinsky Higher School of the KGB. Now working undercover in Washington DC.

The item which I had recently liberated from a CIA warehouse was now muffling threats in his native accent. It unfocused me, so I resorted to shouting back. "Shut up!" I told him. That seemed to do the trick and he shrieked in intimidation. Halfway there now. Hopefully, no one would be out or about when we got there. We couldn't risk people seeing us interrogating a Dutch computer programmer. That'd raise way too many questions than we had deceitfully convincing answers.

We were there in no time, minimal traffic about. A rundown and derelict safehouse owned by our very own operatives. To _stay_ rundown and derelict safehouses. Well, of anyone ever had the slightest suspicions all our covers would be blown. I pulled up outside and opened the trunk, letting the object breathe for a minute or two. The man gave me the look. The look. Within seconds we'd pulled the object inside and lain him down on a wooden torture table. We locked him into the iron cuffs. For me, I'd like to say my job was done there.

No. He was a family man. Two children and a fellow spy of a wife. So, I had to stay at the item's bed side, waiting to see if he cracked with time. I had to remain awake for a further sixteen hours, at which point his wife arrived and spoke to me. "We'll have to start with the procedures soon." She said, facing the Dutchman as she emphasized 'procedures'.

I knew what she meant. Whether or not the programmer did, I couldn't know. "My name's Elizabeth, by the way." She extended her hand for me to shake. The vile culture of this country had rubbed off on her, I could tell. I glared at her and she took the hint. "I'll take over from here, then." She sighed, dismissing me.

Returning to the woodland area of the dead drop location, I checked up on news for my latest errand. Tired and sleepy, I took the orders, stowed them in my handbag and headed back to my apartment. I'd have to make a start in that job tomorrow. Even spies needed their rest. Having not slept for the past two days took its toll and I, possibly more than anyone else on the planet at that very moment, needed rest.

Warily putting the key in the door, I almost fell down and collected my hard-earned slumber. No, I waited until I reached the bedroom of the apartment and lay down, throwing my clothes off and dressing into my nightwear. Sinking into the memory foam bed, I shut my eyes tightly, not bothering to think of whatever horrible fate the poor unfortunate hacker was going through at the moment.

Concerns for him could wait. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I don't think I had enjoyed sleep as much as I had that night. Then, my half-sleeping thoughts turned to work.


End file.
